Rules of Living
by Keaton's Firefly
Summary: And suddenly, there it was. He was smiling. Dabbing paint and smudging it onto the canvas. He seemed more real, less faded. "And this is exactly why you of all people should understand." Lightening struck across his face, dashing the smile.
1. Chapter 1: Stark, Raving Mad

Chapter 1: Stark, Raving Mad

"You're absolutely, stark raving mad," wait. Pause. And- "You know that, right?"

I suppose at this point, I a) should have known this or b) must have been brainwashed into thinking it. After all, the exclamation and following question had been following me around all day like some lovesick puppy dog. The dog I wouldn't have minded. But it was being parroted to me every hour (sometimes- scratch that, definitely more) by one of my best friends and my current roommate.

I could practically hear his cogs turning from across the room as he paced back and forth, biting his lip, and on the verge of whimpering. To say he was overly concerned on my behalf would have been an understatement.

"You're published!"

Now, _this_ was a new statement and the novelty of it had caused me to look up. "Yes. I'm published. You were there with me when I got my first acceptance letter, Demyx."

"See? This is exactly _why _you can't go through with this," always dramatic, the blonde mullet owner of our happy household practically threw his back out as he leaned back and his hands slapped to his face and raked through aforementioned outdated haircut (but honestly, he could pull it off-which is probably what pissed me off about it in the first place) and moaned. "Oh my god, my poor, naïve Axel, you're going to be eaten alive if you can't even understand what I'm saying. How did they even pass you? In fact, why are you published? Here I am, thinking you're intelligent."

"Okay, stop," I rolled my eyes and put down my notebook, train of thought completely derailed and the poem, at this point, unsalvageable. The irony of comforting Demyx on a potentially aggravating lifestyle choice that I had made for myself was not lost on me. "I'm published because I'm damn good at what I do."

"Then why are you switching careers?"

"I'm not. I'm simply-"

"Throwing yourself into hell."

"Demyx, come on, it's not hell."

"It's high school, Axel. _High school. _We worked our asses out of that place as fast as we could and now you're going back? When did all of-" he wildly motioned in front of him. "-this happen anyways?"

"I told you six months ago that I was going into the accelerated program to get licensure and I've been gone for class and practicum six nights out of the week. Where did you think I was?"

The pin dropped. Demyx bit his lip and bounced on his heels once, his eyes glancing off.

"Or did you even realize I was gone?"

Hands to the face again. "I kinda, sorta remember you mentioning it now. It's…I…you know I haven't been home much either!" when he removed his hands his face was red.

"Ah, the boyfriend," I chuckled at the utter Demyx-ness of it. "You've been too busy f-"

"No! NonononononoNO."

"Excuse m-"

"Shh!" Demyx's voice dropped down to a whisper. "Don't jinx it."

"Demyx, it's been sixth months. That's significant..for you. I think it's okay to say the 'f' word."

"Yeah, I know," he glanced away and nervously started piecing apart the tail of his mullet.

Demyx was a romantic. He wanted all of that end-of-the-world, "I'll never let go, Jack" crap. But every time he mentioned how great the 'bedroom talk' was, it would end. Literally the next day. It was kind of freaky and uncanny and when it happened for the third time, Demyx had forbidden the word. This was the fourth. And it was also the only one to send Demyx into silence in brooding, moody but not angst-y contemplation. Whoever this guy was (and really, who was I to rag on him when I hadn't even met said boyfriend of over six months), Demyx had fallen Shakespearean hard for him. And _he_, whoever he was, had better not f- shit, I mean- screw it up.

Maybe Demyx was right. If I couldn't control my language, I might be out on my ass on the school sidewalk after attendance, 1st period. But then, I didn't want to just drop it either. I had already been hired (the district was desperate. Apparently being a flaming red head with facial tattoos, a questionable background, and _slight _pyromaniac tendencies was A-ok at this point). And, there was the obvious for why I couldn't send in my resignation and continue with life as normal.

"See, Demyx. This is exactly why I'm taking the job," I said, breaking him out of his reverie and trying to hide my amused smile. "I'm bored. I'm losing inspiration. I'm writing crap and a few hours a day in hell sounds fun as shit to me at this point."

Demyx raised an eyebrow. The light at the end of the tunnel was in sight. "You're sure about this?"

"Hey, the way I see it, it won't matter much anyways. You're in a long term relationship and an honest-to-god principal hired me to teach high school English, so the apocalypse must be around the corner."

Demyx laughed at this and walked away to grab some leftover dinner. "True," he turned back holding a milk carton. "Just don't say I didn't warn you," he made a face. "Oh, and this milk expired two months ago."

"Oh. My. _God_."

"I did warn you."

"_Oh-my-GOD."_

"It's too late now, Axel. You should have listened to the all-knowing Demyx."

I shoved the pillow harder into my face. Suffocation was just as effective a cure for boredom, right? I ripped the pillow off. "We're we that bad?" I hoarsely whispered. "We're going to hell, Demyx. Or we should belong there already. If _that's _how bad we were I would lie in a court of law to let our teachers get off scotch free for murdering us. Torture optional."

"You wouldn't be able to vote. You'd be dead," Demyx replied and pulled a spoon that had once been full of ice cream from his mouth.

"You look happy."

"I had sex this morning," he was practically oozing self satisfaction and romantic gooeyness.

"You're disgusting. And I hate you."

"You just wish you were me," he sing-songed.

"No, mullet brain, I wish you were me," I grumbled and rolled off my bed (which was really a mattress pushed against one side of the wall in our one room studio). I stumbled to the window and pushed it open onto the noisy, gasoline filled night. "I need a cigarette," I murmured and lit one, taking a deep breath.

"Was it really that bad?"

"You know that Chuckie doll?"

Demyx shuddered. "Yeah?"

"He would piss himself if put in the same room with one of them."

"Ouch," Demyx grimaced before smiling brightly, "Well, it can't have been all bad."

"It was like I didn't exist for half of them and for the other half I was that stupid ass milk carton that just needed to be tossed out by any means necessary."

"Any means necessary?"

"Demyx, I pride myself on my ability to spontaneously spin obscenities. I occasionally make a living out of it. But these kids were coming up with shit that made my jaw drop to the floor. And half of them walked out! In the middle of class!"

"What about the other half?"

"Apathetic," I sighed. "Honestly, Demyx, I think that's what killed me more than anything. I wanted them to have conversations with me. I wanted them to see how cool and exciting Walt Whitman, Ezra Pound, Allen Ginsberg, and Charles Burkowski are."

Demyx groaned, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, see, this is exactly why I can't take you out in public," he was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry you had a rough day. You going back tomorrow?"

I thought about that, taking a drag and blowing it out into the night. "Yeah. There was one bright spot. Small girl, blonde, quiet. Out of all those little f-"

Demyx shushed me with the suddenness of a whip cracking, his eyes reproachfully glaring.

"Demyx, I don't think it counts out of context."

"You don't know that."

I rolled my eyes and continued, letting that slip. "She was the only one who looked me in the eye. She was doodling something, yeah, but she would always look up and acknowledge me if I looked over."

Demyx came over from the kitchen and flopped onto my bed, hugging one leg to his chest. He smiled conspiratorially. "Kinda like a bombed concert. You get bottles and cheap food thrown at you, but there's still the music. And there's still that one person who can sing along and whose just as pumped as you are."

"Yeah, exactly," I smiled.

"And, hey, you didn't kill any of them. That's gotta say something about and this cracked up decision."

For awhile, silence reigned with that statement. A part of me had been hoping to be inspired by the people and the environment, but all I felt was exhaustion.

I grinned as a forgotten observation flitted back to the front of my brain. "Well, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty damn sure the janitor is screwing the crosswalk attendant from the elementary school next door."

Demyx's jaw dropped in delight. "No way," he breathed, laughter bubbling its way up. "If that doesn't make for a good poem or short story, I don't know what would."

I joined in his laughter and, heck, maybe he was right. And if that was the first day brought, who knew what the rest of the week would come with. Too bad it was only starting and I had yet to see the worst.


	2. Chapter 2: Wax Fucking Poetic

Chapter 2: Wax Fucking Poetic

The alarm went off at 5:00am. This was not natural. I groaned and flopped around, trying to find my cell phone. I swear to God the thing had grown legs overnight and was running away, dashing under the sheets and giggling stupidly. I groaned in frustration and squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to squeeze the pillow closer around my head while reaching out with the other.

"AXEELLLLL! WHAT THE HELL?" it came out as a half whine, half scream.

"I'M ON IT!" My breath exploded from my mouth and I opened my eyes. With my added sight, I found the phone by the next second and turned it off.

Apparently, it hadn't been soon enough. From the loft above, a very tired and cranky looking Demyx glared down at me, his hair seemed to have been attacked by a very static-y (and somewhat vindictive) balloon. "Just because you're some hot shot teacher now and you have to get up at the damned crack of dawn, does not mean you wake me up too. No sympathy either. You chose this."

I blinked blearily and nodded. Demyx was incorrigible in the morning to a ridiculous degree. Nothing I said in reply would have been met with any more grace or compassion than the previous statement. I waited until he had settled back down, then got up and retreated to the coffee pot.

_I'm going back there._ The thought crossed my mind with a little bit more fear than I remembered feeling last night. I had been so sure of returning, but now, a half hour before I had to leave to catch the two buses to get there, I was thinking of calling in sick and saying to hell with it. After all, what was the point in returning for just one good kid?

Exactly twenty-two minutes later I was walking out the door, wearing grey, wrinkled slacks that I had gotten at a thrift store and a dark plum button down shirt that I had never actually worn "buttoned down" before today (equally as unnatural as the alarm). I yawned and leaned against the sign post for the bus station, checking the clock on my cell.

Obviously guilt and some sort of asinine sense of duty had won over. Well, I still had the copies of my syllabus stuffed in my bag. The first day had hit me with so much force, all plan or intention of decorum had gone out the window. It had become survival at point and a struggle to keep even a mockery of order in the classroom rather than complete chaos. I shuddered at the thought of a possible repeat.

I also had some copies, enough for 30 (I had 32 students), of a Whitman poem that I thought would be a good starting point. This also elicited a shudder that had nothing to do with the early morning chill. Yeah, I could just see how well that would go over. I honestly had not a Goddamn clue if I could get them to pay attention and had no intention of muttering the poetry to myself while they made general mayhem and madness. So, as with everything else in my life it seemed, I decided to wing it.

_Not a good plan. _I thought as I collapsed back into the rickety piece of industrial plastic and cheap metal that constituted my chair. 1St period had been overwhelmingly comatose, 2nd period belligerent (crowned with this shining moment in response to my desperate attempts of conveying the joy of Whitman: "Shit, man, I've heard better noises come out my ass."), and now, 3rd period. I thought the break in between would have prepared me for the last one; I had retreated to the storage closet for some good ol' deep breathing, followed by resignation and angst. I thought that the gods or just some merciful sense of karmic balance would have bestowed, more or less, a class period of relative chaos and curses.

It had seen fit to deliver unto me a cat fight.

And now, after bodily pulling the girls apart and sending one to the office (she probably took a detour out the door and wasn't planning on correcting her mistaken direction) and the other sent back to her desk amid commendations on technique and righteousness to her cause, I had retreated to my desk. It was then that even my chair abandoned me.

I am 6'5" (a fact not lost on my students and their endless appetite for ridicule) and "collapsing" into aforementioned flimsy piece of furniture should have been a dead giveaway for me. In my distress, alas, it was not. I was unceremoniously floored in a frantic tangle of limbs. Instant uproar and pandemonium. And as I lay there on the grimy floor, staring up at the flickering, questionably health code certified, fluorescent light, and having wave after wave of hollered and hooted profanity entrenched comment crash over me, a kind of manic calm set over.

"Dude, man, why are you even fucking here?"

"Besides to give us entertainment!"

"Shit if you want entertainment, I've got some cents and time."

"Prick! Like you could afford it!"

"Hey, giant man, you good? Or did you break something?"

They wanted to wax poetic and explicit about their lives and all the unfairness and shallowness of the world? Fine. But they'd learn to do it correctly.

My voice got deadly quiet, myself not even paying attention to whether or not they were listening, and strangely, I could hear the quiet. "All right, you little jerk offs, you want to complain and moan and bitch about your lives? Get in line. But before you start spinning obscenities, listen to a master and learn how to do it with passion and poignancy."

"Shit, dude, poi-what?"

I ignored him and ripped my laptop from my bag. Why hadn't I thought of this before?

"What he doing?"

"Man, I think he snapped."

"He's crazy, what's he doing?"

The loading screen came and went. I pulled up my audio files and double clicked one. I righted my chair, dusted it off with one motion, sat down, and steepled my fingers, settling down to watch them.

"_I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, _

_dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, _

_angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, _

_who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz.."_

A few opened their mouthes, muttered, but I had them. Rather, Allen had them. And, I realized now, that was all I wanted.

_ "__with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years."_

It was five minutes before the bell rang by the time the first track ended. I sighed. "You want to curse and rebel and lash out? That's fine. I've had my share of it, too. But do it in a way that doesn't just get dashed to the gutter and forgotten," I glanced up, my green eyes tired and narrowed. "Got it memorized?"

They shrugged and muttered, stumbling out of the classroom. The same profanity spewing, belligerent kids that walked in, but strangely more thoughtful. A little shook up, if you will. That was fine by me. _Howl _could do that to you. Hell, I might be fired, but at least I got a reaction out of them.

A flicker of blonde and pale skin caught my eye. I looked up and saw the girl. I had almost forgotten about her. She looked at me, soft and thoughtful and yet penetrating blue eyes staring down. Without a word, she placed a single, folded college-ruled page near my hand and hurried out to her next class. I unfolded it carefully, still in a trance from the last hour, and felt a smile pull the corner of my lips. There, on the page, was a smudged, rough sketch of me at my desk with my steepled fingers.

It told more about that moment- the memory of it- and how I felt than any photograph ever could have.

Demyx greeted me back to the apartment with usual endearing enthusiasm.

"Hey, you're back. And you're not dead!"

"You're faith in me is utterly inspiring, Demyx," I murmured, dropping my bag by the door (grimacing at the louder-than-expected clunk and realizing my over-sized dinosaur of a laptop was still in there) and flopped onto my bed face first.

"So? How'd it go?" he scooted forward on the stool near the kitchen.

I raised my head up just enough to make eye contact and felt the self-satisfied smirk twist my lip. "I won."

"Really? How?"

"Three words," I smiled. "Allen Ginsberg. _Howl_."

"Ick. You would," Demyx stuck out his tongue.

"What's wrong with Ginsberg?" I snapped defensively.

"Too weird, in my taste."

"You listen to some pretty fucked up shit, Demyx."

"Yeah, maybe," Demyx grinned. _"Howl'_s still spooky though, and I couldn't really understand it either."

I leaned up onto my elbows.

"I understand the emotions in chords and harmonies better," he added, jumping off and going over to his guitar.

"Hey, to each his own," I yawned and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the apartment and the feeling of accomplishment in my gut. A light melody, meandering and whimsical, floated through the room. Today had been rough, rough as hell, but it had ended in a little victory and in a battlefield like that classroom, I would take what I could get.

"You know, I had my own victory today."

I groaned. "Man oh man, Demyx, I don't want to hear anything more about your sex life, got it?"

"What makes you think I'm talking about my sex life?" he exclaimed, even managing to sound injured.

"Because it seems to be the only thing on your mind, that's why."

"Well, it's not," Demyx sniffed. I could hear the pout in his voice.  
>"Oh, yeah? What else then?"<p>

"I got a gig!"

"Seriously?" I sat up at this.

"Uh huh," Demyx grinned and nodded. He stopped playing for a moment, needing his hands to further emphasize his excitement. "Yeah, it's gonna be a month from now, at that modern, white washed bar downtown. You know, _Oblivion_?"

I snorted. "I'd forgotten about that place. I think that's either the cheekiest or smartest name for a bar in the history of the world."

"Right?" Demyx laughed. "Well, I was thinking if you could make it, I could introduce you to the guy," this last word was accompanied by a bashful smile.  
>"Of course," I grinned and rolled my eyes. "How could I forget?"<p>

"Yeah," he sighed happily and started plucking away at the guitar again, humming. "And, you know, totally did do it this afternoon."

"Ugh. Why am I not surprised?"

"Well, I thought about not telling you after how you reacted, but eh- decided why not?"

"Indeed. Why not?"

"You're just jealous."

"Of course."

"You know, it might be good for you," Demyx pointed an authoritative finger at me. "I mean, you're so exhausted when you get home, you need a break from all that school stuff. Could also give you inspiration. Why do you think most stories and songs are about love? And if you're not in it, how can you write about it?"

"Demyx, I've got enough stress as it is. I'll deal with that later."

"Aw, but don't you miss cuddling and snogging and-"

"And sheer awkwardness? No. Not at this moment in time. Because all I can think of is the accompanying miscommunication, flared tempers, hurt feelings, and clinginess."

"Who've you been dating?" Demyx snorted and began to laugh.

"Forget it, Demyx. I'm already getting inspiration from my hell spawn students and with that, I've got enough on my plate as it is."

The only problem? This was my perception of my life and how it should be. It's just too bad the universe sometimes takes your reply of "No, I'm all full" and mistakes it for a "Seconds and thirds, please!", slopping on the rest of the damned pot of stew.


	3. Chapter 3: Crashed & Burned

Chapter 3: Crashed & Burned

Emboldened by my previous and oddly continuing success during the week (there was one more repeat match of the two charming ladies, but the other lady did come back, and we did make it through another section of _Howl _with twenty minutes to spare; and which turned into an impromptu ranting session/discussion of reactions. In other words, I win again). Thus, I decided on Saturday evening to have a series of parent-teacher conferences that next week. We would (hopefully) have poems written by the kids by then, and I could talk about strengths and weaknesses (which would, again- hopefully, be more than my typical bullshit).

I took a deep breath and readjusted my sitting position on the mattress, hunched over my laptop and with a bowl of long gone cold Chinese take-out on the floor nearby. I had always been good at reading people and so had a pretty good feeling of most of the kids, if not all. I knew the kid in the back had a wicked sense of rhythm from his pencil tapping and would probably kill at rhythmic poetry. There was a girl in the middle on the far right (one of my combatants, actually) who had a taste for words. I knew this because every time I slipped some interesting vocabulary into my talking, her ears perked up and she started listening. And then, there was the girl, my bright spot. Since the day she handed me that sketch, there had not been any other interaction between us besides making eye contact in class. But she was always drawing and every time I managed to grab a peek (not an easy task, let me tell you), it was always something plaintively beautiful or heart achingly detailed or both. I won't lie- I was most interested in meeting her parents and it was during my musings when she reached my mind that I decided to definitely go through with my plan.

So, I pulled up my records for the students and started calling numbers. A lot went to voice mail, some were picked up by rude ten year olds, and the other by parents of both the confused and disgruntled varieties. I explained the situation as best I could, insisted and soothed that their child was not in trouble and that I just wanted to introduce myself and the class and let them know what I had noticed about their student so far. One parent summed up the night:

"Well, shit, if that's all you want to do, can't we just continue talking on the phone?"

I explained I had been talking on the phone all night, and I would hopefully see them next week. I groaned, rubbed my temples at the incoming storm, and laid back. After a few seconds of respite I grudgingly lifted up the sheet of crossed off names and looked to see if I'd missed anyone. Just one name: Namine Mneme. I sat up, remembering my earlier thoughts of wanting to call her parents last since they'd probably be the nicest ones. The phone number listed had a different area code- must be an old cell phone. I dialed the number, pushed the phone against my ear, and waited.

After several rings, I heard the click and a smile pushed its way onto my face.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered. Obviously not a parent- too young sounding, probably a sibling.

"Um, hi. I'm Axel Lea. Can I speak to your parents?"

"Who?" a sigh pushed static through the line. "Listen, it's almost 10 o'clock, isn't it a little late for you sales people?"

"Excuse me? No no no, I'm her English teacher."

"Excuse me?"

"Ha, that's what I just said. I said I'm her English teacher. Mr. Lea?"

"Oh. Right. The crazy red head with a thing for some guy named Ginsberg."

"Bingo. Except if you don't know Ginsberg, you obviously need to be in my class."

"Sorry, been there, done that. And, why exactly are you calling? Namine's not in trouble, is she?"

"No, no, nothing like that. She's actually one of my bright spots."

He laughed a bit at that. It was kind of cute. "She says the same thing about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I could hear noises in the background, clinking of cups and then a sink being turned on. "Says you're the only teacher she has who isn't afraid to shake things up. My words, not hers. Anyways, you were saying?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm just calling to tell you I'm holding a parent-teacher conference night. Would you pass that on to your parents?"

The line went quiet.

"Hey, you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah," judging by his voice, he was obviously not there anymore.

"Well, it's Thursday night for 3rd period and there are a lot of kids, so just have them swing by anytime between four and eight, okay?"

"Yeah, got it. Is that all?"

"Well, yeah."

"Bye then."

"Bye," I heard the click as the phone went dead and stared at it for a while. That was odd.

"You're doing _what _now?"

"Demyx, can we just agree that no matter what I say in regards to my teaching, there's going to be the mandatory shock and disbelief? That said, would you mind terribly if we agreed to skip it and move on to what you actually think?"

Demyx crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, staring me down, offended and overly dramatic, as usual.

"Oh, don't be like that."

"Well, if you _really _want to know what I think- it's a waste of time. I mean, whose actually going to show? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Axel, and if these kids are hard to deal with, then I can only imagine what the parents are like," he shuddered. "Why are you doing this again? You should've just stuck with being a poet; because as far as I know, books don't talk back."

"You'd be surprised. And, I'll choose to ignore that last question," I smiled wryly. "That's not the point. Maybe half of them won't even show, but I want to be there if any of them do. It's worth that. And to meet Namine's parents and impress upon them how talented she is with art. She's so secretive, I wouldn't doubt they don't know about it."

I could see Demyx relax. A smile reluctantly pulled at his lips, slightly defeated and exasperated, but not in a bad way. "All right, I don't get it, but all right. Well, for your sake, I hope all of them show up."

"Agh! Don't say that! I'll be there all night!"

"You asked for it!" Demyx sing-songed and laughed.

"I guess so, huh?" I conceded, grinning.

It got quiet for a time as I went back to my laptop and Demyx went back to scavenging for food.

"You're really throwing yourself into this, aren't you?" Demyx asked a few minutes later.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I looked over at him, my chin resting in my palm and my fingers covering my smug smile. "Then again, I could say the same of you."

A chuckle came from the depths of the refrigerator. In a matter of seconds, the slim dirty blonde had retrieved half a Subway and had bolted from the kitchen side of the room to my mattress (which he landed on after taking a flying leap). My laughter redoubled as I was 'bumped' to the other side of the mattress. Demyx was currently in a positively gleeful fit as he nuzzled into the blanket. "That good, huh?" I managed between laughs.

Demyx turned over and cackled up at me. He hugged my pillow to his chest (sandwich forgotten on the floor) and smirked. "He's an _artist,_" he purred.

"Is he now?"

"Uh huh. He does really beautiful paintings. Like a modern day Da Vinci."

"I'm sure," I chuckled.

"He does! He's going to this awesome art school downtown. He graduates this year and he already has patrons and everything."

"Demyx, do you even know what a patron is?"

"Yes!" giddiness soured into indignation in under two seconds flat. But, lo and behold, the smile returned. "It means people who pay him to paint."

"Well, I'm happy for you, you big dweeb," I laughed and ruffled his mullet. I got a mad flurry of swipes and squawks for my attention.

A thought hit me. "Hey, Demyx?"

"Yeah?" he muttered as he tried to return his mullet to its previously pristine condition.

"Mind swiping a brochure for me from that school? I think I may try to give one to Namine."

"Sure, no problem."

_Well, maybe tonight will be better,_ I thought as I shouldered the door back open to the school. With venti straight black coffee in hand (which may or may not have included three extra shots of espresso), I felt I was ready for the last of my conferences. The last two days and my first two periods had been a bust. Though half hadn't shown, the other half had either not heard me on the phone or not understood my voice mail because they were under the impression that their child was in serious trouble. Once the light bulb came on, they were none too pleased I dragged them from their oh-so-important daily lives to "just talk." There were some, however, who were reasonable, albeit bewildered, and who listened attentively and even asked a question or two. These were completely blown from my mind by the aforementioned variety and also the rather intense parents whose questions practically machine-gunned me into a corner. Was I teaching the classics? Was I preparing them for tests? Would this class prepare their child for an Ivy League school? Hell if I knew- I hadn't even stepped foot onto the campus of one. Sheesh.

Well, at least I'd get to meet Namine's parents tonight; though I was also looking forward to talking with the respective parents of Seifer, the rhythm boy, and Esmeralda, my little fighting word girl.

I waited fourteen minutes before I heard footsteps outside. Looking up from my journal, my glasses on the verge of falling off the tip of my nose, I saw a shadow paused on the floor outside. I placed my moleskin journal on the desk and stood up, opening my mouth to greet the first parent or parents. My greeting stopped dead in my throat and instead, in my exhaustion, the first thing that came into my head tumbled out:

"You're not a parent."

The young man in question bristled, offended and defiant in the doorway.

"No, but I'm her legal guardian," the voice recognition hit me like a semi. It was the guy from the phone number under Namine's name.

In person, I could hear his voice much clearer, but a slight scratchiness remained. His voice was light, like the rest of him. Slight build, sky blue eyes, mussed blonde hair, same as Namine's. He seemed just a year or so younger than me. Had to be at least 22. "You're the guy from the phone," I stated dumbly.

"Yeah, I'm her older brother, Roxas," he glanced towards the door and exhaled, clearly wanting nothing more than to be done with this. "Do you actually have anything to say or is this all for appearances? Cause if so, I'm leaving."

I won't lie- his bluntness swept my brain and mouth clean for a few seconds. He took this as reason to leave and began to slide back out the door.

"Wait!" he paused. "I mean, yes, I do. Just, hold on a second," I stumbled over my words. To say his question caught me off guard would have been an understatement. At least over the phone he had been willing to chat.

He stayed there, in the doorway, one raised eyebrow waiting in anticipation (which bordered on exasperation).

"I do. I just-" a thought struck me. "Wait a minute, you're her legal guardian?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But-"

"Our parents are deceased."

My stomach dropped. "Both of them?"

"Yeah, that's usually what the plural form of the word means, right? You sure you're qualified to be an English teacher?" he had crossed his arms and was glaring at me with unabashed annoyance.

Under the gaze, my cheeks were probably turning about the color of my hair. I coughed and tried to catch my figurative footing. "I'm just- a little surprised, is all. Um, Mr. Mneme, do you want to have a seat?" it sounded stupid, even to me.

"I'm fine right here." Apparently, he agreed.

"Okay," I heaved a sigh and drummed my fingers on the worn surface of my desk. What the hell was I going to talk about again? I couldn't hold onto a damn thought long enough to register it.

"How old are you?"

I glanced up. He was staring at me still, blue eyes bright against his faded vintage t-shirt and ripped jeans, and seeming to see not through me, but past. "Why are you asking?"

"Because, despite your crazy height, you look no older than me."

"I'm 24. You?"

"23."

"Yeah, we're pretty close," I chuckled nervously.

"And you're her English teacher. What, did you graduate super early? Some freakishly smart kid?"

"No, sixth month program for licensure."

"Ah," his eyes lit up with a kind of twisted humor. "One of those 'save the schools' things 'cause all the other teachers who actually know the system have all given up. What were you before?"

"Poet," since when had this conference turned into his own private interrogation? Granted, some other parents had done most of the talking the last two days, but none of them had managed to pull it off with such smooth, infuriatingly easy, for lack of a better word (says the English teacher and poet), finesse.

"Really?" his eyebrows went up at that.

"Yeah, damn good one, too," I leaned back in my chair (it whined and creaked pathetically- not the effect I was going for).

"That's cocky."

"True, too," I smirked. "What are you?"

His confidence slipped, a slight shifting of the light across his eyes. His eyes darted away for a second, then returned. He shrugged. "I'm a waiter."

"Does it pay enough?"

"Excuse me?"

I knew it was inappropriate, but I cared about Namine, and now that I knew it was just her and her brother, I wanted to make sure they were doing all right. So, fuck professionalism and all that. If the tattoos and pyromania didn't fire me, this sure as hell wouldn't. "I mean, are you and Namine okay?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's my business because she's my student and I care about her well being."

He stopped at that, a preconceived retort dying on his face. For awhile, he just held my gaze. I stared right back at him. Suddenly, his phone went off. "Shit," he mumbled and dug into his pocket. He flipped it open and a sneer twisted his lips. "Great. Well, speaking of which, I'm late for work."

And, without another word, he was gone. It was only then that I remembered I had needed to tell him about Namine and her art. He had never answered my last question though. I tapped my pencil against the desk, brooding and tracing the scratches with my eyes. Hopefully they were okay, and yeah, maybe it was none of my business, even as a teacher. But I'd never been very good at keeping my nose out of places where it didn't belong.

The rest of the conferences, of course, were equally as productive, if not more so. I had four more: two more disgruntled parents and two confused. One actually walked out faster than Namine's brother, Roxas, and I was too tired at that point to call them back. Rhythm boy and word girl's parents didn't show, either.

All in all, the whole shebang left me with a pounding headache and a desperate need to be anywhere but that dingy little classroom. As soon as the last parent ditched, I packed up my things and made my way out of the school like a freshly made recruit in the zombie apocalypse. But would my brain give me rest? Oh, no.

I was still thinking about Roxas Mneme and his sister Namine. I was concerned, sure, but something else was tweaking me about the guy. It's like you get a feeling about people- only thing I can think of to compare it to is if I'd been on the Titanic. I can't help but wonder if a sailor or passenger stared up at that big block of ice and thought before it hit, "huh. There's probably a helluva lot more under the surface than I'm seeing right now."

Moral of the story was that with Roxas it was the same exact feeling. Maybe I'm totally off kilter, but I could swear that past his glib responses and barbed questions, the sullen and bitter demeanor that could have given even my most jaded students a run for their money, I couldn't help thinking there was a lot more to the story. I was really curious to see what him and Namine were like together. She was so timid and nice and caring, and him? Decidedly less charming than when on the phone.

I groaned and put my head against the cool metal of the bus stop. Why was I still thinking about this? I had had dozens of other headache inducing incidents over the past three days and none had stuck with me as much as this kid. Probably because I had pictured something so much different, another Namine, I guess, parents or even a parent- hell, a grandparent- for another (this, of course, was my first mistake). Regardless, I had expected shy friendliness and willingness to talk- apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that jazz? Nope. I got blunt hostility and half-truths (I didn't know this for sure- chalk it up to another feeling).

So much for that. He was her legal guardian. Was he even responsible enough to care for her? Hell, if I was in his shoes, would I even be? I chuckled a bit at that- I had better be, I was in charge of the learning and in-school well being of a couple dozen. Still, it was different.

I sighed heavily. He could've still been willing to listen. But then, that would have required me not losing my mind at the moment he walked in. I readjusted my shoulder strap, my thoughts twisting my face into a fantastic grimace. To hell with the apple and the damn tree. There were instances I could name that definitely and definitively proved that old adage false, and this was most certainly one of them.

I heard steam as the bus stopped and got on, waving my pass at the driver. "Hey Axel! Rough day, eh?"

"You would not even-" did a quick under-the-age-of-twelve check- "fucking believe it, Xigbar."

"Ah, can't be that bad. Bet tomorrow will be better," a wolfish grin pulled the brutish looking man's features. "Or worse."

"Thanks for that," I managed a weak smile and collapsed into the closest seat. I rubbed my temples against the mental storm.

By the time I made it home, the sun was just dipping under the horizon. I dimly noted that meant it was somewhere around seven pm. Definitely not as early as I was planning on. I shuffled into the apartment, the conferences still a migraine inducing heap of over processed nonsense.

"Hey...Axel?"

I had flopped face first onto my mattress.

"I was about to ask how it went, but I guess that answers it."

"Please shut up, Demyx. My head won't stop pounding."

"..." I heard tentative footsteps moving away from my bed. "I'll get the aspirin."

A touch on the shoulder woke me from my zombie state. I accepted the dark red glass of water and aspirin, then downed the pill without (a talent of mine I'm rather proud of) and cleared my throat with the- "Demyx, what the hell is this?"

"Well, I figured you were going to swallow the pill dry and, from the state of things, you looked like you needed something a little stronger than water. That's the last of the rum."

I smiled, feeling suddenly better at the gesture, and finished the glass. "Have I ever told you that you're the best roommate ever?"

"Yeah, yeah," Demyx waved me off. "You can make it up to me by vacating the apartment for Valentine's week."

A beat of silence followed before I responded. "Last time I checked the holiday was Valentine's _day, _Demyx."

"Yeah, well, a day's not enough," Demyx replied matter-of-factly.

I chuckled lightly and laid back down at a diagonal, staring at the ceiling, my legs sprawled off one end of the mattress and my head lolled off the other. A blanket of silence (self-imposed and demonstrating much self-control on Demyx's part) enveloped us. I could feel myself drifting away to sleep, but opened my mouth and said the only thing that I could come up with after the day's events:

"Assumptions are bad things, Demyx. Very, _very _bad things."


	4. Chapter 4: The Apple & the Tree

Chapter 4: The Apple and the Tree

I woke up with the headache still stubbornly camped out and no progress in the broken record of my mind. Sunlight shone cruelly through the windows and as I weighed the pros and cons (of which there were none of the latter) of black out curtains, I dragged myself from my bed towards the bathroom. Not only had an honest-to-god migraine taken up residence in my right temple (I'd never, ever had a migraine before yesterday), but my mouth was dry and gross from the rum. I ran my hand through my shock of red hair, working through a tangle that had come about during the night of tossing and turning and closed the door to the bathroom.

That kid Roxas had a lot to answer for, I decided. Namine was off scotch free because she hadn't actually thrown me into a bought of frenzied worry. But the cynical, demeaning little punk was another story. I didn't even know him and I was concerned, my mind running over and over the same stupid list of questions and non-answers I now wished I'd had the foresight to ask the night before. It was Namine, I decided. I was concerned about Namine's well being and since Roxas being her legal guardian kind of influenced this (meaning influenced in the way the sun kind of influences the rotation of the planets), it made sense that my head kept running around in circles.

But as soon as this touched my mind, I knew it wasn't the whole truth. The kid genuinely puzzled me, like that damn rubric's cube I could never finish no matter how hard I tried. I could tell he cared about Namine and her schooling, even though it was a bitter concern. The kid had guts, too, and didn't really seem to give a flying fuck what I thought, even though I was trying to make my best impress-ugh, forget it. I groaned and splashed cold water on my face. I took the time to run my hands through my hair a few more times in the mirror and then went back out and retrieved the cell phone, wondering why I hadn't needed to turn it off in the first place.

Oh. That's why. _Shit. _

Apparently, I had snoozed the damn thing to silence and now I had exactly seven minutes to be down at the bus stop. _And it's Xigbar's shift and he's __always __early and if he doesn't stop to wait, I swear to God I'm going to kill him._

I stumbled and darted around, tugging on pants and the closest and least wrinkled shirt I could find, grabbed my bag, knocked over the coffee pot and a chair, found my keys after dumping the contents of the table on the ground, and went for the door. That's when it hit me. Quite literally, in fact.

My head jerked forward with a soft thump and I looked down to find the culprit a previously airborne pillow. I glanced up at the loft. Demyx glared down at me silently. "I'm sorry, okay?" I called, frustrated with the whole situation. Demyx deepened his glare. I rolled my eyes and rushed out the door.

The bastard didn't wait. I ran the whole way to the next bus stop. I was late to my first period class and the handful of students that remained were not about to let me forget it. The teacher across the hall also tattled on me and I was called to the principal's office for a lecture (read: rant) about responsibility during my break. This comforted me more than anything as he cared enough to call me down (I was almost convinced he wouldn't- guess we can't win 'em all). With nothing in my stomach, I approached my last class with deep, calming breaths and a terrible need to smoke. These kids didn't deserve my bad mood no matter how god awful they could be. I gave a quick introduction, redirected a few outcries and snide remarks (I had gotten _very _good at taking their jibes at the poets and poems I presented and turning them back around on them in a question that got them to think). I was a bit more snappish, but managed to temper it and get through the first part before I turned on a recording of a Charles Burkowski poem. Some of Burkowski's stuff was really dark and twisted; which, at this point, fit my mood perfectly.

**jump? I couldn't believe I'd let that kid get the upper hand on me. I had probably looked a fool and he most likely thought I was some kind of idiot. No different than that ridiculous jolly green giant on cans of sodden veggies. Except I was red. I jotted down a check mark for an absence with a bit too much zeal and moved on to the next name on the attendance list. We could be a pair- the Christmas giant duo, one jolly and green, the other grumpy and red. We'd be an absolute sensation at Christmas parties. I knocked off the next name, then paused, my ridiculous fantasies coming to a sudden, screeching halt. Namine was absent. I looked back up and, sure enough, her chair was empty. Well, that settles that.

By the end of school, I had a plan. I knew I wasn't being a very good teacher, my own coach in the licensure program had said that we were not to focus on one student to the exclusion of the others. But, what happened if it wasn't the student, but the brother-scratch that-legal guardian of the student? The first step in my plan then was to go pay my dear coach a visit.

"Mr. Lea. What a surprise. What can I do for you today?"

"Hey Marluxia, I stopped by for a chat."

"I can see that. Is this a question that can be answered in the doorway?"

I made a face.

"Probably not, then," he supplied. "Fine, come on in, Axel."

I walked into my mentor and coach's townhouse and instantly smiled. Marluxia was a high school science teacher and a certified plant fanatic. Plants of all different kinds covered every surface, vines draping over the fronts of overstuffed bookcases like natural curtains. The home was crowded with books and plants, but always seemed homey. I plopped down on a worn out couch and made myself thoroughly comfortable.

Marluxia rolled his eyes and smiled. "I just made tea, so I'm guessing I should make you a cup, too."

"Why, thank you. That would be lovely."

This earned a chuckle and he continued on his way to the kitchen. As soon as he had left though, the issue of why I had come returned. My features tightened and I began tapping my foot nervously. A few minutes later Marluxia returned with two steaming mugs. "I know I probably already know the answer to this, and you'll probably want to kill me for even asking, but any way I could have a smoke?"

He stopped in his tracks. "You're right. The answer's no. But it looks like I made a good choice on making you my anti-stress blend."

"You're a saint," I murmured and accepted the cup. Not being able to smoke was a blow, but Marluxia's herbal remedies were well known as near miraculous. It wasn't bad tasting either and I told him this.

"Of course it tastes good. If you drink something that makes you retch, that in and of itself causes its own stress. And that would be asinine," he finished and eased himself into the arm chair across from me. After a few moments of me savoring my tea, I looked up. Marluxia hadn't taken a sip yet- he was just staring at me intently. "So, what's the problem?"

"It shows that much, huh?"

"You look like hell."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

"Anytime. It's what I'm here for," he sighed and settled into a more comfortable position (probably knowing it was going to be awhile). "All right, I may regret this, but how's the teaching going?"

It was as if the keystone of a dam had been pulled out- all my frustrations, mostly centering on Roxas, came out. Whether or not they were understandable was another matter and one I wasn't entirely sure of myself. I just hoped he heard enough to give me some advice.

The sun was painting the light coming in through the expansive windows red and gold by the time I finished (but honestly, it had only been about an hour and a half). I was very aptly stretched on my back on the couch, my arms cushioning my head and my ankles way over the end. The connection to a therapy session was not lost on my mentor.

"Okay," he exhaled, setting his empty tea cup on a side table. I had three empty ones on the floor. "Well, now that I'm apparently your therapist, I guess it's my time to talk."

"I'm sorry," I grimaced.

"Don't be. Part of a teacher's job is sometimes being a counselor, which is comparable to a therapist," I heard him shift again. "Now for some good news and some bad news. The good news is that this kid isn't your student, but that's also the bad news. Relations with parents and, in this case, with the legal guardian can be rather touchy. It would be even touchier if Namine was a discipline problem and you had...a warranted reason to contact him outside of school. But, she isn't, and honestly, what she does with her life once she graduates is not so much your concern as what she does in your class. Teach her as best you can, Axel, teach her to think and to look at the world and herself with new eyes, but let her make her own decisions. Because if you start making decisions for her and her family, you're not helping anymore- you're hindering. With that said, let Roxas run things as he sees fit; you can't imagine what it's like to be in his shoes and it's not your job to swoop in and 'save' them because they might not need it."

He paused for a moment and I chewed on my lip, dreading his final statement. It wasn't what I was expecting though. "I would tell you to be professional and drop it, Axel, but I know it's not in you to do so and, honestly, you've already made your decision to get involved. My advice then? Tread softly. Life is usually much more a twisted, tangled mat of string on the floor than a neatly wrapped up ball. I also believe you're right about the iceberg metaphor, more right than you can even imagine."

I nodded. I thanked him for the tea, quickly washed out my cups, and left. He was right. I was making a very big deal out of only two interactions with this kid and there was no reason to come into this with the objective of 'saving' anyone. A few years ago, there was a time I couldn't even save myself for awhile. But, I was the only one who could do it; I had to dig myself out of the hole I resided in or risk sinking even further. With that, I took a breath of cool evening air, dug into my pocket, and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with Namine's address on it.


	5. Chapter 5: Losing Terms

Chapter 5: Losing Terms

Their apartment was on the other side of the city from me but in a building that was pretty much a carbon copy of the one I resided in. My heart was pounding as I pressed the button to be let in and I realized I hadn't thought this far and they might not even be home or, much less, let me in. The door buzzed a few seconds later though, and after a brief fantasy of turning around, walking out, and dropping the whole thing, I pushed open the heavy glass door and climbed the three flights of stairs to the third floor. Apartment 318 was at the end of the hall, near a grimy window that looked out onto the street. The carpet was frayed and stained, but so was the carpet in my building. I took a deep breath and knocked.

I waited for a few moments, glanced nervously around, and was about to leave when the door suddenly swung open. There he was. Much less pale in warm, non-fluorescent light and wearing much the same attire as I had first met him in. He was also extremely startled- but that goes without saying.

"You. What are you doing here?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I...can I call you Roxas?"

His eyebrows went up at this. "Um, yeah, okay, but-"

"I think we can both agree that calling you Mr. Mneme was a little awkward last time we talked."

His lips quirked into a slight smile at this. "You can say that again," he paused, then spoke more quietly, almost to himself. "Looks like the jolly green giant does have a brain."

"Oh, do I have a story about that, Roxas."

"Really? But, is that why you're here, Mr. Lea? Strangely, I wouldn't doubt it," he grinned and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Nope. And, the name's Axel," I returned the grin, relieved. This was going much better than I thought it would. "Namine was absent today and I came by to drop off her homework and see how she was doing."

Startled again. "Oh. Thanks."

"Um, can I come in?"

His eyes drifted to the side, focused on a point I couldn't see, and seemed to consider this very seriously. "Yeah. Okay, sure," this seemed to distress him more than it should have though and I stepped gingerly into the apartment as he closed the door. It wasn't what I was expecting. His and Namine's apartment was laid out like mine. Tall, white walls and one room with a loft, which wasn't surprising from the outside appearances, but this wasn't what arrested my attention.

Paint drenched drop sheets covered the carpet from end to end and about a dozen canvases were propped against the far wall with more sheets draped over them. The kitchen held more evidence of a clean-up area of an art classroom, rather than a place where one would prepare food. One of the canvases was exposed in the middle of the room. I stopped immediately, tethered to the spot and my eyes glued to what had been added to the previously taut white space.

Sweeps of red and brown met each other from opposite ends of the canvas. Red, hot like fire and drawn with much the same attitude, erupted from the left bottom side, while the brown, twisting and stubborn and so very alive, flourished from the opposite corner. The two met in the center, twisting and twirling in and out of each other and, together, approximating the shape of not the symbol of the heart, the one seen in jewelry lines and pop art and Valentines decorations, but the anatomical one, full of all its impossibilities and fragility and strength. It looked like fire and tree roots chasing each other, but not destroying each other- intermingling. All the while they were both reaching towards the same point- the top of the canvas, some point above them both, like fingers reaching towards the sun in a strangely human stretch. I could almost see phantom human hands and bodies in the heart, intimately embraced. It wasn't finished, and it sure wasn't Namine's- I had come to recognize her touch on paper.

I looked to the side where I knew Roxas had moved since letting me in, my purpose for the visit momentarily pushed aside. That's when I took in what I had missed at the doorway. His ripped jeans held evidence of red and brown smudges that were still glistening wet, his ratty t-shirt having a few as well. He was wiping his hands off with a rag that should have been consigned to the trash long ago and there was a smudge of paint on the underside of his jaw.

"You're an artist," I breathed.

He didn't look at me, a smile that was tinged with something darker pulling his lips. "Only in the loosest of terms."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "When you asked what I was, I figured you meant my job. I'm a waiter. This," he nodded his head to the canvas. "Doesn't exactly pay the bills. Actually does the opposite. Gonna yell at me for not being responsible and supporting Namine?"

I shook my head 'no,' speechless, and moved towards the painting to get a closer look. I hunched down and leaned forward.

"Don't touch it!"

I turned and saw the alarm on his face. I smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not going to touch it. I just wanted a closer look," I returned to the painting and traced the intricacies with my eyes. Up close, I saw there were other shades of brown and red and a few other colors inside the broad strokes, weaved together like the finest spun thread, bits of green in the brown like sap. It reminded me of the twisting nature of veins. Fire and veins and roots and sap. My smile grew bigger. It was like a whole story without words, filled with longing and unlikely meetings and secrets. "It's beautiful," I breathed.

There was a snort across the room, amused. "It's not even finished."

"Doesn't stop it from being beautiful, Roxas," I insisted. "You're amazing."

"Aren't you here to drop off homework?"

I could have stayed there much longer, but I clapped my hands and stood up. "That's right! Where is the invalid?"

I heard a chuckle behind me and another voice call out to my right. "I'm over here, Mr. Lea."

I turned and saw the area. One section of the room had been blocked off by pretty paper space dividers, soft flowers and vines meandering across the smoky fabric. It had the same feel as the painting- he must have done it for her. Namine was right behind, her shoulders draped in a blanket and the space beneath her nose angry and red. Her eyes were glazed and she seemed to teeter.

"Hey, don't get up on my account," I directed and strode over to her. She nodded and sat back down on her day bed which was set against the wall. I hunched down, eye to eye with her. "Hey kiddo, how you doing?"

"I'm alright," she assured me, but quickly turned her head in a fit of coughs. "Okay, maybe not so much."

"You can say that again."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry I missed class today."

"No no no, you don't even worry about that."

I watched her nod and the smile fade, her eyelids drooping. I looked over and noticed an empty bowl with the remains of what looked to be chicken noodle soup and definitely not the canned variety. A mug of tea was there, too, and a bowl of Clementine oranges. "I see your brother's taking good care of you."

"Yeah," the smile resurfaced with a yawn. "Roxas is a good cook."

"Is he now?" I chuckled and glanced behind me. Roxas was still standing near the kitchen, leaning against the island and still fingering the rag. His pale features were tinged with red across the bridge of his nose and his upper cheekbones. Marluxia had been right- there wasn't really any reason to worry, it seemed. Roxas, despite his bouts of apparent PMS, seemed to have things under control. I looked back to Namine and fully acknowledged the extreme flush of her cheeks against pale, clammy skin.

"Do you have a fever?" I asked, suddenly serious.

"A bit."

I got on my knees and stood up straighter, completely level with her, and held her bangs back with my hand. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against hers. Startled, she jumped back, her eyelashes fluttering. I could hear her brother behind us, equally surprised.

"What-"

"Relax, I'm just taking her temperature," I said.

Namine nodded and relaxed, allowing me to press my forehead against hers once more. I closed my eyes.

"She does have a pretty good fever going. Has she been resting?"

"Yeah. I've kept her in bed all day and insisted she drinks several cups of tea every hour."

"Roxas doesn't seem to realize this is a slight contradiction since I have to get up all the time," she paused, blushing. "Well, to go to the restroom."

I laughed and ruffled her hair before standing up again. "Some contradictions make sense. Your brother's right, Namine, you should listen to him." I pulled a book of poetry out of my pack. "Here's what we did in class. I just had everybody pick random pages and we read from there. Don't try and push yourself. Just read when you're feeling better."

"What is that?"

I turned. Roxas was right beside me and yet, by his eyes, he seemed like he was much farther. "Book of poems by Charles Burkowski. We were listening to him in class the other day. It's the poet we're studying."

Roxas picked up the worn copy and arched an eyebrow. "'Pleasures of the Damned'?"

"Ever heard the one about not judging a book by its cover?"

"Yeah, but never by its title."

"Touche."

Roxas started flipping through it.

"There's one about an artist in there," I said.

"Is there?"

"Uh huh," I smiled and leaned in closer, watching the well known pages flick by.

"Is this your own copy?" he paused on a page filled with my spidery chicken scratch.

"Yup."

"Isn't that…" Roxas paused. I watched his eyes scrunch in thought. "I don't know, kind of like cheating since you're the teacher? Can't she just parrot back whatever interpretation you wrote down?"

I shifted my weight and shot a knowing grin towards Namine. "Perhaps. Granted, if she can manage to decipher my chicken scratch; and if she does, I'm still not worried. Namine's disagreed with me before on the finer points of poetry."

Namine blushed at this. I turned back and continued watching Roxas flip through the pages. "I can read it just fine," he murmured. When he got to the last page he shrugged and gently put it back on the nightstand. I blinked, and noticed for the first time that rain had begun softly knocking against the window. Namine sneezed.

"Well, if that's all, Namine needs to rest, so you should probably go."

"Yeah," I said and glanced down at my watch. It was already eight o'clock. Walking back towards the door was surprisingly hard- the apartment was warm and Roxas wasn't being, well, what I had thought to be Roxas. I turned back and found my reluctance increase two fold. He was hunched back down, paintbrush in hand and making gentle strokes across the canvas. His eyes were intense, mirroring the look in Namine's when she sketched, and his lips partly open. Suddenly, his brows came together with displeasure and he deftly twisted the paintbrush's end away as he brushed his bangs back with his palm. I couldn't hide a slight smile as I saw how a trail of paint followed his palm, smudged across his brow. I felt the sudden urge to ask to stay, but before I could even think of an excuse, he had noticed my presence.

"What? Did you forget something?"

"No, I just…"

He stopped, looking longingly at the work, and sighed. "Listen. I…don't really like working with someone watching me, and Namine needs quiet to rest."

"Of course," I made a move to turn back, but paused again, quiet.

Roxas kept staring at me, his eyes telling me in no uncertain terms he was more than a bit exasperated. "Don't tell me your brain died again."

"No, exact opposite- I was thinking about how different you two are."

This was obviously not the answer he was expecting and his irritation turned to puzzlement. "How so?"

I took this as an entry to stay a bit longer and stepped closer to him. "You both are ridiculously talented artists, Roxas, but with very, very different styles."

It was my turn to be surprised. Roxas looked suddenly troubled, his hands intertwined and tensed. The knuckles were growing very quickly white. "Is she?"

"What? Don't tell me you don't know?" I exclaimed.

"Please speak quietly. I think Namine just fell back asleep."

I nodded. "Sorry," I whispered. "But what do you mean you don't know?"

He glanced up at me. The overhead lighting glanced across his pupils like streaks of lightening and seemed to hold much of the same implicit danger. "And how is it that you know?"

Things were very quickly and quietly going out of control; I could feel it like watching some slow motion video of a car crash. But I had no idea why. Marluxia's advice was screaming in my head to back off, not push it, but I had to know.

I shrugged and took the time to weigh my options. "I let her draw in class. It doesn't hinder her focus and she draws some of the most absolutely incredible things."

He wasn't looking at me anymore. I didn't understand why he seemed to have trouble breathing. Was it something I had said?

He stood up and suddenly grabbed my arm. He was close enough I could feel the warmth radiate off his skin and felt my own heat rising unbidden to my cheeks. "We'd better go outside."

I nodded. My eyes narrowed and the calm, warm feeling our last encounter had held was slowly seeping away into a cold kind of wariness. I had a very strong feeling our next conversation and what he had to say was not something I was going to enjoy. At all.

It was chilly in the hallway. A crack in the murky window let in tendrils of damp, cold air. I crossed my arms and watched him shift his feet, then run his hand through his hair, the one without paint. He seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say next. "Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked.

"What? That your sister's a talented artist?"

"Yes. You're not an art teacher, Mr. Lea-"

"Axel," I insisted.

"Fine. Axel. As far as I know, you're just her English teacher. So I don't really see how what she does other than poetry or reading or writing is any of your concern."

"I like to know what my students' passions are. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," I had been right. I didn't like where this was going. "It's actually what I wanted to talk to you about at the conference. Namine's so quiet and secretive, I figured there was a good chance you had no idea how much she loved to draw and how good she was at it."

"And I'm still wondering what the purpose of you telling me this is," he continued, but based on his tone I figured he already knew.

It would have been best to wave this off with a generic comment and take my leave. It would have been the smart thing, the professional choice. I knew it was what Roxas was hoping for. Too bad I tend to disappoint and not make the best decisions. Doesn't mean I don't have a damn good reason for flying in the face of decorum. So, I threw caution to the winds and ended our stupid little tango. "She's graduating soon and I thought the best place for her would be an art school and-"

"She's not going."

There it was. That bad, nagging feeling given form. The reason he had brought us out to the hallway. And even though I had had a feeling about it, it still knocked the wind out of my gut. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know where she's going yet, a liberal arts college somewhere, but she's not going to an art school, no way," he seethed.

"What? Why?"

"None of your business." He was angry but also uneasy, that much I could tell. That was fine by me. Let him be uncomfortable. Let him know he was being a senseless jackass and that he was really starting to piss me off.

I didn't say any of this though. We just stared at each other for a very long time, waiting for one of us to speak. As far as I knew, there was nothing much to say at this point. I finally knew where he stood. Anger was twisting my gut into a thousand knots, each that had a life of their own; if I started speaking at this point and if we decided to take this conversation any further, it would end up being loud (undoubtedly among a few other unpleasant things). The door wasn't thick enough to hide that from Namine and she didn't deserve it.

"All right then," I said softly, my voice taut and dangerous. "Take care of her." I turned on my heel and left, taking the stairs two at a time and pushing through the doors to the outside rain. The rain had turned into a downpour and managed to get past my coat, soaking my shirt completely. Puddles drenched my shoes and pants. None of this cooled me off. It just prevented me from smoking and had probably drenched the pack in my pocket. Oh, and to top things off, the damn migraine was back.

"And now, see, this is exactly why I was so worried about you taking this job. You're an emotional basket case and you're being a bigger drama queen than me. And, no offense to myself, Axel, but that's saying _a lot._"

I probably shouldn't have slammed the door upon my return to the apartment. It did nothing for my headache and alerted the "all-knowing Demyx" to the fact that I was a smidgen less than a happy camper.

"It's also killing brain cells. You've been trying to light that soggy cigarette for the last seven minutes. At this point, Axel, I don't care how good you are with fire, it's not going to light."

"Dammit!"

I could feel Demyx's eyes on me. He was sitting on my bed, watching me stew in my own self-imposed misery. Great. I had an audience.

"Really? You're going to bang your head against the wall? That'll also kill brain cells, too, you know."

I stopped. "You have no scientific proof of that."

"You're being a child."

The statement slapped me in the face harder than his hand would have. I grimaced. "You just don't know what I've been through these past few days."

"Yeah, I don't, until you tell me. So stop being a goddamn drama queen and come over here and talk to me. I'm your friend, Axel."

I sighed. He was probably right. And I was pretty sure I could feel a bruise developing on my forehead. And the migraine? Imagine, if you will, hitting a beehive with a stick. Yeah. That bad.

I shuffled over to my mattress and plopped down, cross-legged across from Demyx. I sometimes forgot how mature he could be. But the way he was staring at me with calm, concerned eyes made it clear enough. It wasn't the norm, but it was still very much Demyx.

"The cigarettes, too, Axel. There's no point in keeping them."

I glanced down at the sorry state of the carton and its contents. He was right, of course. I lobbed the pack with expert aim. It soggily hit the inside of the trash can and plopped down.

Demyx's lips quirked. "And what made you think you could light those to begin with?"

I couldn't help but laugh a little. "I don't know," I murmured, placing my head in my hands. "Desperation, I guess."

"Desperation about what? Students actually being hell spawn? I thought that's what inspired you."

"No, it's not any of my students. Well, not directly, at least."

"Really?" I looked up to see Demyx's brow furrowed. That's right. I hadn't really told him anything.

"No, I just got back from Namine's apartment."

"I thought you liked her..."

"I do. It's just her...legal guardian is driving me up the bloody wall."

"The 'rent? I told you, Axel, you open that door with parent-teacher conferences, you're screwed."

"Yeah yeah yeah," I waved him off and continued. "I did meet him for the first time at the conferences, but he's not a parent. He's her older brother."

"Oh," Demyx replied, his voice quiet. I didn't have to say anymore for him to get the general gist of that part of the equation.

"He's actually just a year younger than I am."

The eyebrow went up again. "And how did you find that out?"

"He asked me so I asked him."

"You're sure he wasn't hitting on you?"

"Positive. And even if he was, which I doubt, that's all over because of tonight."

A groan went up. "Okay, if the great and all-powerful Axel sees fit, can I please know why my best friend and roommate was reduced to banging his head against the wall and trying to catch fire to soaked cigarettes?"

"Well, when you say it like that..."

"How else should I say it?"

I made my serious business pout face.

"And, um, yeah. That's disgusting. So stop it."

"Fine," deep breath in, exhale out. I rolled my tongue over my teeth, stalling. Part of me didn't want to tell him, because he would probably agree with Marluxia in how dumb and unprofessional I had been regarding the whole thing. Eventually he flicked me on the head. Apparently, I wasn't going to get away with waiting it out either.

"Namine's a ridiculously good artist," I started. "She loves it, too. Like how you love music or I love poetry."

"Okaaay," Demyx prompted.

"Well, her brother's an artist, too. I found that out tonight. And kind of prone to bouts of PMS," I paused, rubbed my temples with my hand. Even saying his name caused the migraine to rear its ugly head. "Let's just say that I brought it up that Namine loved art and was good at it, and sort of brought up how she should definitely go to an art school."

"All right, not too out of bounds for a teacher, honestly. So you told him what you've noticed about her talents and possible careers after high school. Axel, I'm still not understanding the reason for your tantrum."

I took another deep breath. The snakes in my gut had begun to writhe again. "He refused."

"What?"

"Demyx, he heard one word about Namine going to art school and he outright refused. And I quote: "she's not going. No way. I don't care where, but she's not going to art school," I paused, trying to get a hold of myself. It wasn't working. "It's not his decision and what the hell is he even thinking? Because there cannot be a reason good enough to keep her from her dream. No way in hell," my voice had gotten angrier and the words tumbled out faster and faster. By the time I stopped, I was out of breath. I also knew now that just because I had avoided the conversation in that hallway tonight, did not mean I was going to let it go. I had only postponed it. Maybe it would be crossing the line, but I didn't care at this point. I kept thinking of Namine and the look on her face when she drew. I had fought like hell to be able to go to school for poetry and for someone to deny her a passion of hers when it could be so easy...it wasn't fair.

Demyx still hadn't said anything. "That's it, then."

"Yup," I made a face.

"Wow, he is being a dickwad."

"I know, right?"

"But," Demyx shifted his position, leaning back on his hands, and looked up at the ceiling. "Have you actually talked to Namine about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, does she really even want to go to art school?"

"Well, I figured...just by looking at her when she drew-"

He started laughing. My best friend, the jerk, was laughing at my plight. "Axel, you need to talk to her about this first. I mean, she'll be turning eighteen soon and he can't do a damn thing about what she does. Well, not legally, I mean. She can run out and go to an art school, wherever the hell she wants," he stood up. I didn't mention that I could never see Namine doing this. "So, just talk to her about it first. She might not even want to go to school for art, and you would've made an enemy for nothing," with that, Demyx wandered over to his guitar and plopped down. "Sometimes you make things way too hard. And not the things you should be."

I ignored that last bit and rubbed my thumb and forefinger against my temple. Yeah, maybe I should have asked. That would have been the smart thing. And maybe she wasn't even planning on going to art school. But, the whole situation still made my hair stand on end. Demyx's advice hadn't really alleviated any of it either. It wouldn't be fixed just by Namine not wanting to go. The problem was that if she wanted to Roxas wouldn't have let her.

"Was he hot?"

I stopped, my brain short circuiting with Demyx's sudden, though not entirely unexpected question. "What?"

"I said, was he hot?"

I dug my forehead into my palm. "Only in the loosest of terms," I muttered.


End file.
